Uninvited
by Alchemine
Summary: Hecate had never quite got the hang of birthday parties, so it shouldn't have bothered her not to be invited to Miss Drill's. But it did.


Hecate had never really got the hang of birthday parties.

Her own childhood birthdays had been restrained, predictable affairs with a single present to unwrap at breakfast, followed by an afternoon visit from her father, dropping in for the annual inspection to see how much she'd grown (usually an unseemly amount) and quiz her about the new magic she'd learnt since his last visit. The few schoolmates' parties she'd attended had been wild and alien in contrast, all ice cream and jelly and fizzy drinks, and full of little witches zipping about on scaled-down broomsticks, flushed and shouting with their hats askew and their hair in a tangle. She'd always felt uneasy there, never knowing when she might be forced to participate in some birthday game or ritual she didn't understand and might not be good at, and had preferred to stay near the gossiping group of mothers and aunts, hoping no one would notice her lingering there and try to shoo her off to play.

With such a history, it shouldn't have disturbed her to learn that she'd been left out of Miss Drill's birthday party in the north tower. It wasn't that she hadn't been asked to such events before–she had been–but always avoided going, unless it was Ada having the birthday. She knew perfectly well that those invitations, like the ones she'd received as a child, were only out of politeness: back then it had been because those mothers and aunts had been afraid of offending her grandmother, and now it was because of her position at the Academy, but either way they didn't want her. Not really.

The only time she'd ever been certain a party invitation was genuine was when she'd been friends with Pippa, and even then, she'd imagined the other girls complaining about it to each other in private. _Why does Pip always have to invite HER? She never wants to do anything fun. I'm sure she's the one who told the teachers that time Desdemona sneaked in the witches' brew._ (It had been Aster Blackwood, in fact, but Hecate had never breathed a word, because Aster was Pippa's second-best friend and she'd protect her for Pippa's sake.) That was the image that had seared itself into her mind's eye as soon as Miss Mould mentioned the party: the rest of the staff whispering _You didn't invite HER, did you, Dimity_ , Miss Drill saying _Of course not! She wouldn't come anyway, but what if she DID?_ and then everyone having a good laugh at her expense. At least Miss Drill had had the grace to look mildly embarrassed when confronted about it, unlike that Mould woman. _The guest list was rather exclusive_ , indeed.

It was stupid. Miss Drill hadn't been wrong when she said it wasn't Hecate's sort of thing. She wouldn't have liked it, and she had other things to worry about–Miss Mould and the Founding Stone not least among them–so there was no point in being bothered.

And yet…

The idea didn't occupy her entire mind, but it crept in through a crack and nibbled away somewhere in a distant corner, in the same dusty mental storeroom where she kept the memories of standing in someone's damp back garden, too tall and skinny to look quite right in her black party frock, and of listening to Pippa bubble over with plans for her cake and her dress and the magic fireworks that her father had promised, never realising that a Gordian knot of stress was tying itself in her best friend's stomach as she spoke.

 _Ugh_ , Hecate thought, and made a mighty effort to forget it altogether. With the relief of the Stone's reappearance and Ada's happiness over it to distract her, she had just about succeeded when a message from Miss Drill popped up on her maglet as she was changing for bed.

 _Still awake, HB?_

She scowled down at the words, tied the belt of her dressing gown with a sharp pull, and sent a reply.

 _It's midnight, Miss Drill. Shouldn't you be in bed, or perhaps hosting a party?_

There was a lengthy pause, as if Miss Drill were considering how or even whether to respond to this, and then a new message appeared.

 _I need to speak to you. Just for a moment._

 _Can't it wait until_ – Hecate started to send back, but before she could finish the thought, a tap came at her door. She strode over and flung it open, revealing Miss Drill with her hand still raised and her maglet tucked under one arm.

"For goodness' sake, Miss Drill," Hecate said, exasperated. "Why are you sending maglet messages from the corridor? You might as well just have knocked in the first place."

Miss Drill rolled her eyes, for all the world as if she were the age of Mildred Hubble and her coterie. "I was _trying_ to be considerate. I thought you might be asleep already."

"Well, we've established that I'm not, so what do you want?"

"To come in, for starters," Miss Drill said. "It's a bit weird to have a conversation in the doorway, don't you think?"

Hecate huffed out a sigh. "Fine. You can come in, but you can't stay."

"I wasn't planning on a sleepover," Miss Drill said, with a grin that could have been either mocking or genuinely amused. She slid through the gap in the door and into Hecate's sitting room, where she plumped herself down in the best chair without waiting to be asked.

"I wanted to say sorry about my birthday."

"There's no need for that," Hecate said. She started to sit down as well, but thought better of it: she'd be taken more seriously if she were standing up. "You said yourself that you didn't think it was my sort of thing."

"I didn't," Miss Drill said, "but it would have been polite to invite you anyway."

"There's definitely no need for _that,"_ Hecate said, rather more sharply than she'd meant to.

"What, politeness?"

"Pity," Hecate said. "I don't want it from anyone, and especially not from you. Have all the parties you like; just leave me out of them, the way you already are."

"What do you mean, pity?" Miss Drill had been holding her maglet on her lap like a shield, but now she set it aside and stood up as well. "It isn't pity."

"I don't know what you call it when you don't want someone at a party, but you invite them for the look of it and hope they'll say no," Hecate said, "but I call it pity, and as I said, I don't want it. And now we've got that clear, I think it's time for you to be on your way." She wouldn't stoop so low as to actually push Miss Drill out the door, but she took a step towards her, thinking the other woman might back up instinctively.

It didn't work. Despite her lack of height, Miss Drill was sturdy and not easily intimidated, and she stood her ground.

"Look, HB…" She corrected herself. "Hecate. I don't know why you think I wouldn't want you at a party, but it isn't true. I did think you wouldn't want to come, but I would have been glad if you had. I can't speak for everyone else, but Miss Cackle and I both wish you'd mix with the rest of us more. We all had fun at the last staff night, didn't we? The one where Miss Cackle said you had to join in?"

Had they? Hecate wondered. She flipped back through her recollections of the evening, looking for anything embarrassing that might have happened, but came up with nothing. She'd had a bit too much to drink and felt it the next day, but so had everyone: Miss Drill herself had barely made it to breakfast and looked as green as pondweed when she arrived, and even Ada had come looking for a hangover potion halfway through the morning.

"I suppose we did," she admitted.

"Well then, I'm going to invite you the next time I have a party," Miss Drill said, and put her hands on her hips as if challenging Hecate to argue.

"If you feel you must."

"And you'll probably find some reason not to turn up."

"Probably."

Miss Drill put her head back and laughed, but she did it in a warm, nice way that made Hecate's lips curl up in a reluctant smile. She knew the difference between being laughed _at_ and being laughed _with_ , but it wasn't often that she really felt she'd experienced the latter.

"That's what I thought," Miss Drill said. She was still giggling a little, dabbing at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. "But it'll be nice to have the option, won't it?"

"Yes," Hecate said. "It will."


End file.
